


Exes and Ohs

by UnusuallyZealousBurgette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bar Night, Bottom Draco, Drarry - main ship, Dron - past relationship, Finished, Hogwarts buddies, Jealously, M/M, Movie Night, Past draco redemption, Polyamory, Pride and Prejudice References, Top Harry, story telling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 03:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnusuallyZealousBurgette/pseuds/UnusuallyZealousBurgette
Summary: In which Draco and Ron have a past relationship that no one knows about, Draco is a coy power bottom, Harry is extremely jealous but won't admit it, Pansy is the all-knowing bestie, Blaise Ginny and Luna are our happy poly couple, and a Jane Austen movie brings Harry and Draco together in the end.





	1. Bar Lights

“Okay, Dray! ‘S your turn.” Harry watches as Blaise slurs messily, throwing a flushed arm over Luna’s shoulder. “Tell us something you've never told anyone before.”

The outline of Harry's faded, lighting scar is illuminated in the dim light as he throws his head back and guffaws, “Oh please! You know Draco couldn't keep a secret to save his life.”

"Just because you see an open book, doesn’t mean that’s all there is to see, Potter,” Draco says sharply, pointing a slender finger towards him. He then lifts his elbow onto the sticky bar table and scratches his chin. “Now, let’s see. Oh! Well er… it's been a while but… should I tell them?” The blond turns his head to the left, lifting an eyebrow to the redhead sitting next to him.

“What's Ron got to do with this?” Ginny asks before consequently downing the rest of Blaise’s Firewhiskey. It’s because he's more drunk than anyone else at the booth anyway, Harry supposes.

Ron looks looks around for Hermione, who’s taking her time in the restroom, and shrugs helplessly. Despite his doubt in his blond friend’s inability to keep a secret, Harry cocks his head and listens on inquisitively.

“Well it's kind of _our_ secret, if you catch my drift.” The redhead explains.

Their table falls silent; bustling sounds of comradery and the sharp, sweet scent of alcohol fill the old tavern around them. Draco absently brushes a but of invisible lint from his deep blue robes.

“Weasley and I dated during our eighth year.”

A mouthload of rum sprays the already viscid bar. Pansy squeals, “Harry!” before standing, arms akimbo, petulantly pulling a lip.

“You two? Dating?!” He exclaims, confounded.

Ron beckons a waiter to vanish the mess and refill all of their glasses. He speaks as he busies himself with handing out the drinks. 

“Er, yeah. We did.” He responds, “We kept it secret because, well, we’re us, mate. It's one of the reasons I pushed you guys to give Draco a chance. I think it started right after the battle, ‘idn't it?”

Draco scoffs, taking his vodka martini, “I'd be offended that you forgot the start of our year-long relationship but, honestly, what am I supposed to expect from you?” He takes a savouring sip of the drink, sanctimonious in a way only he could.

The edge of his lips curl up slightly, but of course he's always found Ron’s antics amusing. Now Harry just has context as to why. The knowledge makes the inside of Harry’s mouth sour.

It's the rum, he tells himself.

“No, we first started talking after the battle,” Draco continues, “I _was_ looking for Harry, but I found Ron instead. I guess Fred had… and Hermione…”

Harry’s heart sinks at the mention of the battle, of all that happened. He buries his nose is his third rum and inhales the sharp, spicy scent that intoxicated all of his post-war memories. The glass slides discreetly across the table.

“I didn't know you were that torn up when Hermione rejected you, Ron.” Luna says, doughy eyed. The Slytherin sitting next to her slips an odd, red something in a glass into her cupped hands.

“How could I not be? I left and came back because of her. I was absolutely in love with ‘er. Then Draco showed up…”

The blond snorts into his drink and waves a hand over his collarbone purposefully while everyone in attendance listens raptly, “He collapsed on my shoulder and cried for like hours.”

“I did not!” Ron squawks indignantly.

“Did too. You were all awkward during the reconstruction, too.”

“W- w- bu-” Ron splutters. “Well, it was embarrassing!”

Draco snickers apathetically.

“I'm sorry!” Harry says, throwing his hands in the air, “But am I the only who thinks this is completely bonk-”

“-So when _did_ you two start dating?”

Harry drops his head on the table, nearly spilling a drink into his matted hair.

“I think around September of that year?” Draco contemplates, “Let's see, Weaselbee asked me to help him study because Hermione wouldn't, but when the time came and I refused to just do it for him he got mad, yelled at me, and then kissed me.”

“Kinky.”

Ron turns a bit pink, looking back and the restroom door again, “Shut up, Ginny. It wasn't like you think. He was just kind of… _there._ ”

“Nice description,” Draco glares, “I'll remember that the next time I reminisce upon our relationship. ‘He was just… there’ ”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Well, yeah. I couldn't stop thinking about you after the battle and then everything that happened during the reconstruction-”

“-a Lot of talking”

“And then you were just… there. After all that time.”

“It wasn't that long a time.” the blond mutters.

“It felt like forever” Ron runs a hand through his hair. The ice in his drink clinks against the glass.

“Then why’d you break up?” Luna asks. Ginny and Blaise take each of her hands into theirs. Despite her being very sweet, Harry notices that Luna still does tend to ignore certain social cues.

Draco shifts uncomfortably in his seat as if pondering the least offensive way to place his two cents. “We just… didn't work out. We were madly in love when it began but Ron wasn't completely over Hermione, no matter how much he insisted that he was, and by the end of the year he realized he still had feelings for her and I didn't feel anything real for him.”

Ron frowns and leans forward, his fringe falling over his eyes, “Hey, don’t say that. I was over her, at first. Then stuff happened.There were bad circumstances. Hermione was with her parents and she was always so distressed. And she went to Harry, and that just… I am not drunk enough for this.” he laughs deprecatingly, downing his drink.

“And we- uh- never really got to...” Draco makes a suggestive hand gesture, attempting lightening the mood, Harry thinks, “That kind of puts a damper on things”

Pansy snickers loudly, earning a glare from Ron, “How would you even get around to do that?”

Harry shoots Ron an accusing look as he side-eyes him under hooded lids. “Er, I kind of stole your invisibility cloak, mate. Draco was all in shock, talking about how he knew there was something because you're too much of a bumbling Gryffindor to get anything done on your own.”

Shivers running up and down his clothed arms, Harry thinks back to all the time spent searching for that damned cloak eighth year. All that when in reality his _best friend_ stole it to go shag Draco sodding Malfoy. The taste in his mouth is so revolting he thinks he might puke.

Draco stretches his hand across the table, “Oh darling, you remembered.”

Ron lays a hand over his, “Well how could I forget? You only complained the whole night long.” Ginny slaps his arm and he retracts as Hermione approaches the table, a butterbeer in hand. Harry releases a hot breath he didn't realize he was holding.

“What’d I miss?” the glassy-eyed girl asks, pulling down her skirt and slipping in next to Ron.

Draco sniggers, “Your boyfriend is a bottom.”

“What?! _You_ were the power bottom!”

Hermione grips Ron’s arm tightly, “I'm sorry, what?!” The redhead’s cheek’s tinge pink as he promises Hermione a ‘later’, but Draco seems relatively unruffled. Ginny mutters something about ‘trouble’.

“Key word ‘power’,” Draco smirks, annoyingly coy, “Just because you wanted to be shagged and I wouldn't do it does not mean you can insult me for it.”

Harry’s sure he’ll sick-up now.

“And with that we’d better be off,” Hermione stands abruptly, rubbing her temples and walking to the nearest exit. Ron smiles impishly and waves the gang off.

“Next Friday,” he promises, Blaise and Ginny wolf-whistling after him. 

“Okay, why is nobody as freaked out as I am?” Harry demands a few minutes later as their conversation lulls unto a rut. “This is bloody fucking weird! I never wanted to know that much about my best friends.” 

Draco takes another sip from his drink, “Calm down, Potty. Why are you so freaked out, anyway It's not the craziest thing in the world, you know. I thought we were being obvious, what with Ron’s sudden obsession with me.”

Harry looks into the blond’s deep grey eyes as they narrow with suspicion. The world blurs out around them. He shakes his head and turns away, massaging his neck.

“Er, I think I've just drank too much. I'd better go.” He whispers. Draco stares after him as he leaves.

“Well don't splinch yourself, bloody ponce…” his pale eyebrows knit together.

When he turns back around three out of the five at the table are caught in their own events while Pansy is giving her full attention to her friend.

“What?” he demands. The girl shakes her head, chuckling.

“Nothing, Draco.”


	2. Hungover

“Ron? Are you allowed guests yet?” Harry yells through the keyhole to Ron and Hermione’s flat. He hears rustling behind the door and waits patiently as his best friend undoes the locks. Ron glares at Harry, still looking rather groggy despite it being one in the afternoon.

“You know, Harry,” he says, walking back into the apartment, “You're not as funny as you believe yourself to be.” The redhead sinks down into an old leather loveseat, picking up a mug of tea.

The flat is mix of browns and reds, hardwood floors and carpets; woodsy and warm, just like the Gryffindor common room. Ron looks pale and grey in comparison. His bright ginger hair contrasts his countenance and his skin sags off his frame.

“What's wrong with your, uh, face? Did the couch not suit you very well last night?” Harry takes the chair opposite of him and smirks, despite the little worm working it's way through his stomach.

Ron laughs, his voice rough and scratchy, “I did not sleep on the couch if you must know  
Just turns out that the Firewhiskey the bar served me has a delayed intoxication effect. Gods I wish Draco was here, he makes the best hangover potions.”

Harry bristles at that; though he won't admit it to himself he’s the very reason that he came by.

“So I guess Hermione really didn't punish you for keeping a secret all this time, huh?” Harry tries feign normalcy but he knows that Ron can see right through him by his one raised eyebrow. _So that's where he got that from._

Ron doesn't respond, but gets straight to the point, “Harry is there a problem? Is it about Draco and I, because that was in the past and I am really sorry I didn't tell you about it, truly.”

Harry sighs, “No, it's not that. It's just a little weird, isn't it? Please don't be upset that I didn't only drop in to check up on you.”

“Harry, there's a reason you never made it into the Auror corps and I did, you're not very perceptive. I, on the other hand, am, and I know for a fact that you never come by without an alterior motive. So, what do you want to know?”

The brunet folds and refolds his hands several times over on his lap, finally lifting his gaze. “It’s just… how? How him? I mean, look at Hermione and then look at Draco. They're nothing alike.”

“Well if you're referring to my sexual preference, we sorted that out long ago.”

Harry breaks into a small, tentative smile, “No, Ron. I was not talking about the fact that Ferret has a dick, that _was_ sorted long ago. I'm talking about how you and him could be together.”

Ron shrugs, “We had some things in common that kept the time: Quidditch, the war. And then, there were always our differences that kept things interesting as well. Other than that it was just a matter of meeting at the right time. _He was there._ ”

Harry ponders this for a moment, “Is that why it works with her and not with him? Because there's more… substance?”

“Well they're both great, in their own ways, but I just wasn't right for Draco. He wouldn't say it last night because he didn't want to hurt my feelings, but I know it's true.”

The brunet’s mouth suddenly feels dry and his tongue thick and heavy. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, while kissing Draco was great, and he was very skilled at it, it seemed to get a bit… mechanical? When I'm kissing Hermione she just lets go. It's like there's nothing around us, no problems to escape because we're already gone. I just couldn't be the one to get Draco to let go.”

“Well who could?” Harry runs a hand through his hair, “He's so uptight.”

“In some ways, but not all. It was me, really. Draco needs someone to match him blow for blow, not pull him out of the ring. Someone wild and carefree, someone with intoxicating passion. I just wasn't that person.”

“And you?”

“Well… I need someone to keep me together. Someone I can trust and who trusts me and who I can give my everything to.” Ron shakes his head, smiling so big that his whole face seems to light up. “But, Harry, can I ask? Why do you ask? You're not interested in him, are you?”

Harry hopes that his cheeks aren't flushed as red hot as they feel. “No. Of course not.” 

He offers no further explanation and Ron doesn't push him for one. Ron stands, excusing himself to the kitchen make more tea for the both of them and leaving Harry in the parlor alone, but the brunet’s thoughts run through his mind faster than he can comprehend. His heart clenches as his eyes lower back down to his hands and he whispers softly, “I want that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I realllyyy liked writing this chapter, biting my nails and hoping you guys liked it too! Please tell me what you think!


	3. Jealousy's A Bitch

Draco saunters out Ron and Hermione’s kitchen with a bowl of popcorn, his ratty old sweater pulled over his hands like oven mitts as he plops down onto the nearest loveseat, conveniently with Harry directly beneath him. He swings his legs over the chair’s arm and relaxes in the other direction.

“Really Draco? Must you? You're bum is digging into my thigh,” Harry maligns.

“Yes, I absolutely must. And at least I brought popcorn, Scarface.” The oddly clingy man twists his torso around until he's nose to nose with Harry and smiles wickedly. His eyes sparkle in the moonlight that peeks in from the blinds. Harry growls.

Groping around in the darkness, Harry pushes Draco over so that, at the very least, they aren't sitting back to chest. Draco frowns, but pushes the feeling aside.

“Did you bring popcorn for any of the rest of us, Draco?” Ginny asks from the couch. She has her head lying on Luna’s shoulder and her leg on Blaise’s. The three are a hopelessly tangled mess.

“Oh Ginevra,” Draco clicks his tongue, straightening his expression, “It's like you don't even know me- of course I didn't bring any more.”

Pansy snorts from the opposite end of the couch. “You're absolutely right, Draco. You were only in the kitchen for- what? twenty minutes? Why _should_ we expect for you to make more than one bowl of popcorn, you selfish twat?”

Ron and Hermione emerge from the kitchen, several bowls balancing in their hands. “You should know,” Hermione says, “He didn't actually help at all. Merely Ron and Draco chatted while I made the popcorn, then he stole a bowl and slipped out.”

Ron hands one bowl to Pansy, sparing an almost apologetic smile for Draco, and then gives two more to the triad on the couch. The couple spare the other one for themselves and snuggle into the second armchair on the other end of the room. Draco grins back at Ron, even winking lightly before turning back.

Harry feels an oddly familiar worm squirming in his stomach and makes the rash decision to steal the bowl of popcorn from the blond at his right with a smirk, stuffing a handful into his mouth. It's dry and tasteless.

“So, what are we watching?” Blaise asks.

Hermione flicks her wand and a DVD flies into the Television. “It's an old one but hear me out, I think you'll like it. It's called Pride and Prejudice.”

“Sounds pretentious,” Draco says, leaning over Harry and pulling the bowl from him.

Ginny eyes then judgingly, “You're one to talk.”

“Yes, well-” Draco grunts as he attempts to pull the popcorn from his companion’s hands. “What are you doing?” he finally cries, throwing his arms in the air.

“I wanted some popcorn, is that a crime?” Harry feigns innocence, oddly glad to have attention back on him.

“No, now give the bowl back!” 

“Why should you have the bowl? So controlling, Ferret-”

“Just take our extra bowl, you children!” Ginny huffs exasperatedly, “Luna doesn't even like popcorn.” As she hands the two their bowl the men blush as their quarrel, accepting it reluctantly.

“What about me?” Blaise cries.

“You'll survive, darling.”

The two stiffen in their seat but neither makes a move to leave. Eventually Draco hugs his bowl close to his body and slumps down into his original position: splayed over Harry’s body. “If you're looking for an apology, you won't get it.” 

“Git.” 

“You two are supposed to be friends, for Merlin's sake.” Hermione shakes her head damningly and flicks her wand and the TV screen. The start credits rolls across screen and an energetic tune plays from the speakers. The room quiets as the movie begins.

Turning towards Harry, Draco whispers, “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” the brunet responds.

Draco parts his lips, “You've just been-” then stops. “Nevermind,” he grumbles.

Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he wonders whether he should have called over sick tonight; he's already seen this movie twice. But, the last time he'd missed movie night Draco dropped by his flat with an entire medical team and fifteen different potions. Imagine how distressed they were to find that he wasn't sick at all. No, that plan wouldn't work at all.

Harry turns his attention back to Draco, Draco and his oddly pointed noise, stupid white-blond hair and magnetic eyes. He decides that he absolutely abhorres the feeling that nauseates his stomach.

He tries to ignore the blond for most of the film, even when his shifts his bum on top of his lap or takes to licking the butter from his fingers. Eventually, it stops, and he becomes enthralled in the movie. That is until the infamous proposal scene comes into play. A somewhat flippant “Well it's her own fault,” from Draco marks the occasion.

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes, unable to hold back a snotty response. “Is not,” he whispers.

“What?” Draco shifts his weight against the armrest so that he can get a good look at Harry as he speaks. He fixes him with a challenging look. Harry gives a loud huff.

“Darcy’s the one who waited so long to admit his feelings, obviously he's the one in the wrong here.” Harry pronounces his statement with a jab to the blonde's midsection.

“Hush up! This movie is hard enough to understand without you two blubbering,” Someone says. 

Draco langiously waves a hand towards Ron but lowers his voice nevertheless, “Oh please, Darcy has displayed every sign of interest in courtship. It's Eliza who still hasn't come to terms with ‘feelings’. I don't know what she thinks she's doing in denying his hand.”

“Maybe she’s denied Darcy because no one could ever develop feelings for the snobby, elitist, blond likes of him.”

“Oh haha, very funny _Potter_ ,” Draco says.

This time it’s Blaise who shushed shushes them, eyes locked onto the screen with one hand feeding popcorn to head thrown back onto Luna’s.

The time passes silently until the movie nears it's end and- a proposal! An accepted proposal! Draco renounces the moment with a loud ‘Aha!’ as if he's been holding in his remarks for the last hour.

“See Potter, she _did_ have feelings for him.” Draco wraps his arms over his chest and leans towards Harry so that he can properly look down on him.

The brunet shakes his shaggy head as if anticipating this response. “No,” he says petulantly, “Elizabeth gained feelings for Darcy after he changes his ways.”

Draco reels back as if slapped, looking incredulous.

“He changed? Darcy didn't change at all. It was Eliza who realized she'd made a mistake in rejecting him in the first place. _Her_ Pride, _her_ prejudice,” he huffs.

“No, _His_ pride and _his_ Prejudice. Elizabeth rejected Darcy because he decided to act all sanctimonious; because he thought it made him more desirable, but he was wrong.”

As the two are shushed yet again, Draco makes a half-arsed attempt at lowering his volume. “Get a new word of the day calendar Potter?,” He teases, “You should know that Darcy’s acting that way was a result of his father’s upbringing. How is it his fault that he was raised wrong?”

“Seriously movie critic Malfoy? You can't just blame every character’s wrongdoings on their childhood,” Harry says.

“Why shouldn't I? Upbringing is always good insight into the inner workings of a character It's what makes Dracy who he is.” Draco says factually. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Not in this case. Darcy’s father pampered him like a prince! He didn't have an unfortunate childhood; he was as privileged as one could be.”

“Don't be so dense Potter. Just because someone lives a lavish life does not mean that their life is perfect.”

“Oh what, like you?” Harry snorts.

Quiet falls like a heavy blanket of snow across the room.

“Excuse me?” Draco blubbers, his face going pale.

“Nothing,” responds Harry all too haughtily, “It just seems that whenever we watch a movie you find some way to remind us that you had a horrible childhood and nothing is ever your fault.”

Hermione lifts up from her seat, crying, “Harry!” but he doesn't stop.

Harry chuckles like it's a joke, “You know you're not some poor soul completely object to the ideas of those around you, neither is Darcy. He made the choice to behave the way he did.” 

“And, when did I ever say any one those things?” Draco stands, anger fuming off of him and his hands clenched at his sides.

“It's the implication, Draco,” Harry spits out obliviously, “You're obviously trying to compare Fitzwilliam Darcy’s rude attitude to your own racist beliefs attributed to you from your father.”

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you!” Draco shouts, “And don't say nothing’s wrong because something obviously is!

“Do you have some kind of problem with me dating Ron, huh? Is that what it is? Ever since you found out I dated your best friend you've been giving me the cold shoulder, so it fits! And now you're even bringing up old shite!”

“Old shite? Is that what you call working for a homicidal maniac?” Harry cries.

“Oh, but it's fine, because the war hurt you too and now we can all forget it ever happened,” the man says, waving his arms in the air, “Keep playing the victim Draco.”

“Shut up! Scarhead, you bastard, shut the bloody fuck up!” Draco’s words ring off the apartment’s walls and, for a moment, the room is silent but for the low buzzing of the telly. Hermione switches it off.

“You think I don't _know_ I messed up? You think I don't know how much hurt I've caused? I made the biggest mistake of my life and I learned my lesson the hard way! I've dedicated years of my life to fix everything I did wrong; trying to rebuild _my life_! And not _once_ did I ask for pity from any one! So who the fuck do you think you are, O’ Great Saviour, to try and tell me that I- that I-” 

Draco’s nose is less than a millimeters distance from Harry’s, so close that he can feel the heat radiating from the other man. His skin is flushed red with anger and embarrassment. In the bluish light tears pool in the blond’s grey eyes; Harry gasps slightly to see them. 

The blond’s eyes go wide and he jumps back, his hand going to the wetness on his cheek instinctively. In a flash he turns and stomps out. Harry’s eyes trail the man as he leaves the apartment, Pansy a few steps behind and the door slamming harshly.

“What the fuck was that, Harry?” Ron shouts.

“Wha- I- I didn't mean for it to go that far I just-”

“You just what? Let your pent up aggression get the best of you? Where did that even come from?”

Harry’s eyes fall onto the Television screen, his ears pick up only static in the silence and his limbs are numb. But, he steels himself, lifting out of his seat and following a trail to the door. He stops, and turns back slowly. Licking his lips and parting them, he says-

“I'm not sorry,”-

Then slams the door behind him, leaving his friends in the wake of his mess.


	4. Driver

Rrring!  
Rrring!  
Rrri- crrrASH

A hand reaches out and grabs the noisy machine, pulling it from the wall and slamming it to the floor. Angry plaster floats in the air like smoke, drifting up and up- until it reaches the ceiling, filtering into the smoke detector. Suddenly, Harry is bathed in cold prick points of water, his howls likely heard across the apartment complex.

Snapping his wrist roughly and summoning his wand, Harry turns the sprinklers and alarms off. He then dries and scourgifies himself and the entire room, making the large, phone-shaped hole in the wall smooth and clean. Harry picks the broken pieces of plastic from the floor and deposits them into the trash. He maligns the day he ever thought to have the thing installed.

Harry can still hear the blond’s snobby voice in his mind. It's been ringing incessantly since he last heard it in person; _You bastard, you bastard, you bastard._

What would Draco say now? he thinks. 

_It’s your fault for renting a Muggle apartment anyway, Potter. If you had just settled down in London none of this would be a problem because Spellular phones have an off button._

“Do my ‘friends’ have a bloody off button?” Harry grumbles.

Running a hand through his horribly unwashed hair, Harry plops himself down on his moth eaten old couch right in front of the telly. The seat is worn and dipped in. 

Harry's called into work sick every day since Friday, his longest call in streak, and still no one has come to visit. They've just been calling, and calling, and calling.

He also hasn't been out of his apartment in a week. What’s today now… Monday? No that's more than a week. Must be why his fridge and cabinets are all empty.

He needs to go back, find Draco and apologize. Harry needs to figure things out and make things right.

“No, no, no,” Harry shakes his head and stands, wandering aimlessly around the apartment, “That's a stupid idea.”

“Just forget it, just forget it, forget him..”

Harry ends up in the bathroom, standing before the mirror. His hair is even more of a bird’s nest than usual; the skin under his eyes is sagging and bruised, his complexion is yellowed like the pages of an old, seaworn book. Harry scowls at his reflection, his eardrums buzzing. He leans down and splashes his face with cold water, then lifts his head back up scrubs his skin with a washcloth. He shakes his head from side to side, his ears ringing, buzzing.

His fingernails meet the shell of his ear, Harry scratches at the skin relentlessly. His reflection blurs; _Scarhead you bastard._

_Don't say nothing’s wrong because something obviously is!_

_Shut the bloody fuck up!_

“Out. Out, I need to go out.” Harry grits his teeth, summoning a cardigan and throwing the front door to his apartment open.

Harry’s feet meander their way around, purposeful but thoughtless.

Outside, down on the bottom floor of his ten floor complex building, it's surprisingly cold. There are not yet crystals fluttering in the air, but the wind bites like an angry crup, pushing icy needlepoints past the shield of Harry’s sweater and digging deep into his skin. He braces against the cold, hands tucked deep into his pockets.

_You should have checked the weather before you left_ , Draco would say in his snottiest voice. _Or, at least looked out the window._

_Always so rash._

_Potter you idiot._

“I'm not an idiot,” Harry grumbles to himself. He continues his walk with his eyes cast down against the wind.

_Oh, but you are_ , the nagging little voice insists, _Who's the one who properly made every one miserable but still doesn't have the guts to apologize or at least accept it?_

“He wouldn't understand!” Harry bites down on his bottom lip, hard.

I _wouldn’t understand? Do_ you _even understand it? This from the man so oblivious he didn’t know his own two best friends had dated?_

“Draco Malfoy is not my friend! And I was only eighteen!”

_Only eighteen? And I suppose you're only thirty-five and still single, since we're underestimating the value of ages now. Let's see, your last steady relationship was when you were sixteen. O’ Golden Boy, O’ Saviour, really lived up to all our expectations haven't you? Living in a ratty apartment with no friends and job you're about to get fired for._

“I never asked for any of that!”

_Yet everything you have you deserve. You never had the nerve to speak up but when it was required of you you couldn't hold your tongue._

“I was angry-”

_At what, Scarhead? What had you possibly had to retaliate for? What, say, made you so angry? So jealous?_

“I was not jealous!”

_You're saying you're not jealous of Ron? When thinking of us together? In bed, his hands running down my stomach, my head thrown back and-_

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up! That never even happened!”

_I knew it. Just admit it Potter! You're jealous! You're in love with me._

“Shut up! It's not true!” Harry squeaks, “Just shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up-” The words fall out under Harry’s breath in a continuous string, arguing against the voice he forgets is only in his head. Onlookers stare curiously but Harry never looks up.

_Harry Potter in love with Draco Malfoy! What a concept that is! Oh, well now I see the problem. I don't love you, now do I? And I never will, especially now. You'll forever be in love with me, forever be alone, because I will never, ever, ever, love you bac-_

“SHUT UP!” Harry screams. As he stops in his tracks the crosswalk materializes beneath his feet. A familiarly unfamiliar honk-honk-honking rings through his ears. He turns to greet the sound, a colourful insult on the tip of his tongue, when white light stains his corneas.

The moment slows as the car inches forward, the driver looking terrified as they try to swerve, when the vehicle impacts in less than a seconds time. The pain is intense and crushing, his brain switched off like a light.

The driver slams on their brakes with as much force as they can. Something explodes in their face; they can barely breath. Their blood trickles cold as blood trickles down their windshield, staining their lap -a man’s, a grown man with dark curled hair, his body lying on the hood of their car, his head broken through their windshield, glass puncturing his skin.

Tears marr the driver’s face, paving the path between glass, dust, and debris. They push open the car door and fall out on their feet only to fall to their knees.

Then, suddenly, a blue aurora encaptures the area, sending people into confusion and panic. People inundate the street, waving their arms and blasting red sparks.

The driver pulls themselves to their feet, leaning on the side of their care, and gazing up in horrific wonder. A robed figure approaches them, placing a hand under their chin. Their blue eyes glimmer.

“Don't worry,” the figure says in a dreamy voice, “Everything's all right,” they raise a hand to the driver’s face whispering a lulling incantation.

Out of the corner of their eye the driver sees a man, a man with the most spectacularly white-blond hair and watery grey eyes. He's pulling the hurt man out, over his shoulder. 

Then, slowly, the driver’s memories turn to wispy dust, disappearing from their head. Their eyes go blank like milky white marbles. The last thing they see are the two men disapparating into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you every have moments when you wonder if you're being a cruel writer? Well, we'll see.


	5. Diagnosis

Red light stains his corneas, then it's blue, then green. Green, green like the colour of the man’s robes. The man that hovers over him incessantly and screams shrilly at other green-clothed people; the man whose wand soaked him in cooling water and put him to sleep. Grey like his dreamless sleep. Blue like his growing bruises. Red like his spilled blood.

When Harry finally opens his eyes, he can't remember the last time he's even been awake. His eyelids are weighted and every inch of his skin is on fire. Harry screams; the raw, scratchy cry rips at his throat. People rush into the room and surround him, only they don't help, they pull at his arms and legs and push him deeper into the mattress. The figure that comes sweeping in claws his way through the crowd like a beast. He screams louder than Harry himself, and is soon taken from the view. Then, Harry falls into a deep state of unconsciousness and his eyes fall closed once more.

The next time that Harry wakes up, the lights in the room are too bright and he blinks several times to get rid of it. He first notices Draco’s figure sitting slumped over in a plastic chair by his bedside when a small snore escapes his mouth. Out of instinct he reaches out to the familiar person, but cries out from the dull pain that courses through his limb. The blond’s eyes shoot open; he attempts to get up and falls out of his seat.

“You're awake,” Draco says dumbfounded. Harry retracts his arm and clenches his teeth. Draco’s whole body stiffens as if he'd been caught, as if he'd rather not be there.

He rises slowly and braces a hand on the arm of his chair. “D-do you need something?”

“I'm fine,” Harry says, turning his head slightly, “But I could use some kind of a potion. To help with the pain, yeah?”

Draco sinks back into his chair, “I'm sorry, I meant like some water. I can't really get that for you…”

“What do you mean?” Harry snorts, “You're the Healer.”

“I'm not really your Healer anymore. I was taken off of your case for….” Draco looks down at his hands, “The other Healers are off duty at the moment, but if they knew you were awake. stupid bastards thought the charm wasn't necessary. It's two a.m., I believe?”

“Two a.m.?” A vain in Harry’s head pulses and he places a hand to his forehead, but this only makes him hurt more. The man rests his lower arm onto his forehead, defeated.

Most of his body is aching dully and his head is positively throbbing. He can barely understand what's happening.

“How,” Harry says, “How did you convince them to let you stay?”

“I didn't,” Draco says simply; Harry notices his nostrils flare.

The Gryffindor braces through the pain and turns himself onto his side, “What happened to me.”

Draco sniffles quietly and begins twiddling his thumbs. “Well, to start, you broke nearly every bone in your body, including your ribs; that's why it's so hard to breath. When we did a full examination, we found internal bleeding, a minor concussion… It's not a good combination; the Skelo-grow and other potions are extremely painful.” Draco scrunches up his nose.

“Broken ribs, internal bleeding...” Harry murmurs, “But that’s impossible. I was hit by a car. A muggle car I remember.”

“Potter, those machines can inflict much more damage than you've apparently been led to believe.” Draco stands up restlessly; he paces up and down the end of Harry’s hospital bed.

“ _Their_ theory was, though, that your protective magic wasn't at it's full strength, that you'd just been ‘malnourished’.” Draco scoffs and continues walking, his heels making sharp clicking sounds on the floor.

“If they'd just listened- but no. I was ‘hysterical’ and ‘unprofessional’ and, apparently, ‘too close to the case to be impartial and _do my job_ ’,” Draco mocks. “They knew perfectly well that I was fit for this job! Holland nearly killed you with that reckless spell of his!” Draco turns towards Harry, gesticulating wildly. His words are rushed and unthoughtful.

He stares into Harry’s eyes.

Finally, his shoulders slump. Draco digs his hands into his hair and sits down on the end of the hospital bed. After a long moment he says, more than himself than Harry, “What am I doing here?”

“What?”

“I said ‘what am I doing _here_ ’! Every day that I've come to visit or worked myself over trying to save you I've been able to justify everything I've done. I’ve embarrassed myself, greatly, maybe even ruined my status at this hospital, and now that you're awake-” Draco lifts his head, “-Harry we're not even _friends_! You don't even want me here!”

“Draco, that's not true-”

“It's not? Really?” Draco stands up again and spins around. “Then why have you been acting like this? Because believe me I've been trying to figure out what's been going on with you but you haven't told me a thing! We were so close!”

Harry narrows his eyes and leans forward in bed, “But were we, Draco? We've been friends nearly ten years, just imagine how it feels to find out that you've been with Ron this whole time?”

“That's all you're mad about?” Draco scoffs, “Because we dated _one_ year, that was it. When we were eighteen, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Doesn't stop you two from flirting all the time!”

“Harry he's with Hermione! We aren't together! We're _just friends!_ ” He shouts, “So what's stopping you from telling me the truth?”

Harry’s cheeks blush as he says, “Fine. You want to know the truth?” Harry winces as he lifts himself up against his stiff pillow. His nostrils flair and his eyes seem to glimmer.

“The truth is I was bloody in love with you! There!” Harry pauses and breathes deeply as a silence fills the space between them, then continues again, all the more hesitantly and quiet.

“I thought you were my last chance at love, or some other stupid shite, and then I found out that I didn't even know you. I know we never said it but I thought all those little things you said _meant_ something: sharing a seat during movie night, sitting on my side at the bar, taking me to try that new, fancy place in London...

“But they didn't,” Harry says, “and you don't feel anything for me.”

The blond seems frozen in the moment and suddenly begins pacing again, then something in Draco clicks and he stops, pointing a finger accusingly at Harry, “You… were jealous? You caused all of this because you were _jealous_?”

“Wh-wh-” Harry stutters, “You pinpointed that one thing out of that entire speech?”

Draco slaps a hand to his forehead and massages his temples. “Yes I did, you _complete_ arsehole, because you just who blew that entire Ron thing completely out of the water when I never felt for him the way I feel for you!”

“Oh.”

“And what was all that about my father and me being a victim? Do you really think that's okay to just pull up!”

“I was angry!” Harry grits out between clenched teeth.

“Well then, Potter,” Draco says, “I hate to break it to you but you've got some serious anger issues.”

“I just wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me! You know I didn't mean it!”

“Didn't mean it?” The blond says, “You can't just not mean the stuff that comes out of your own mouth! Or do you not know how that works, you prat!”

“Shut up, tosser!”

“Bird brains!”

“Ferrety git!”

“Scarface!

Harry’s nostrils flare as anger courses through him. He's staring straight at him, the annoying, ferrety git with his poncy hair and snotty voice and- he starts laughing. He doesn't even know where it comes from but suddenly it all seems so ridiculous.

Draco growls, “What the bloody hell are you laughing for? What's so funny?”

“It's just,” Harry wheezes, “I just confessed my love for you and our response is to bicker like third years!”

Draco’s mouth falls open and heat rushes to his cheeks. He stutters over words, “Wh- for a normal person! This is your normal behavior!”

Harry guffaws even louder, clutching at his stomach and rocking back and forth.

“Harry!” Draco holds back a laugh, “You're going to hurt yourself!”

He runs to the man’s side and places a hand on his shoulder, immediately bursting out in laughter. His shoulders hunch over, shaking violently, and he leans his forehead to Harry’s. Their eyes squint close, only opening again when they stop suddenly and pull back as if the touch burned them both. Harry pulls his gaze from Draco’s.

“Dra- Malf-”

“Pot- Har-”

Their cheeks warm.

“Draco I didn't mean anything I said that night, I was just so angry. I respect you too much and care too deeply about you.” Harry blinks, “I never should have let my anger speak for me.”

Draco smiles softly, “You sound like a Mind Healer.” He leans forwards again and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, tucking his head into the brunet’s neck. Harry gasps, slightly shocked, and then leans into the embraces, circling his arms round Draco’s waist.

“I never meant to make you cry.” He whispers into Draco’s skin. Harry hears the man sniffle.

“You could have died, Harry. All the reckless decisions you've made and this could have been the one to kill you.” His arms tighten to far that Harry’s afraid he can't breath and revels in the burning in his lungs.

“But I didn't, did I? I just got brought closer to you.”


	6. White Light

“Careful, Harry!” Draco cries. He holds Harry around the waist with one hand and has the other tucked beneath his arm as he helps the man into the high bar seat of their usual table.

“I'm fine Draco,” Harry insists, trying his hardest to feign annoyance.

Tonight, the bar seems calmer than usual, or maybe it’s just Harry’s imagination. Outside of the foggy window he can see the snow falling peacefully.

“You're reckless is what you are,” Draco huffs. He makes sure Harry is comfortably seated and then sits down on the opposite side, still eyeing him worriedly. Harry can't help but smile.

“Should you even be at a bar this soon?” Blaise interjects, eyeing Draco as he orders a Firewhiskey, “What if lover boy gets drunk and like fall off a chair or something?” 

Draco raises an eyebrow, “That is why he will _not_ be drinking tonight.”

“Thanks a lot Zabini.” Harry says.

“It was going to be a no anyway.”

Unwillingly, the Gryffindor’s eyes fall onto the man in front of him as Blaise snickers quietly as Draco takes his first, warming sip of alcohol, his nose turning pink. It's been so long that they've come to the bar together that Harry can't remember the last time he'd seen him with that fuzzy, warm look on his face.

Hermione chuckles and shakes her head at the two, starting, “So Harry, how was anger management?”

Harry bites down on his lip and begins to fidget a bit as he seems to think of an answer, but Draco reaches forward and takes his hands into his, smiling encouragingly. The tension falls from the man's shoulders. “It was fine,” he says, “I think I'm really making progress.”

“That's good, Harry. Really good. And it's great that you have someone so great to go with you.” Hermione leans into Ron’s side. The redhead stares back and forth between the two as they fidget and blush and flirt. It's all he's seen them do lately.

Ron clears his throat, “So are you two dating or what?”

Draco and Harry both choke on their spit and pull their hands back. The Slytherin’s back stiffens.

“No. No, no, no.” Harry says reverently and blushes, hard. Draco glares and slaps his arm.

“We're getting there,” his gaze softens, “But, Harry needs to get to a better place first. Then… erm, I don't really know.”

Draco smiles lightly as Harry gazes out from beneath his fringe. The two hold their stare as their table gives little awes, causing them to blush further.

“Well good,” Ron states, “I'm glad to know I finally got you Drarry together.”

“What the bloody hell is Drarry?!”

“Yeah Ron you were literally the opposite of help!”

Ron reels back shocked and places a hand to his heart, “Why does everyone always doubt my part in things?”

Hermione shakes her head as she grabs Ron’s hand and the conversation at their table goes into a roar at his expense, and Harry revels in it. It was funny to think just how much changed with the seasons, the uncertainty that lied in such simple interactions, and the beauty of it all. 

Not so long ago everything had seemed a blur, and now he could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, a glorious light. It's warmth threatened to fill him up, and he could still only feel it at his fingertips; Harry wanted to take it up and never let it go. He squeezed Draco’s hand and rubbed the back with his thumb, that beautiful golden-white light.

**Author's Note:**

> I love feedback and constructive criticism! You can also find me in Tumblr @Unusuallyzealousburgette.


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